


you're probably sleeping, i hope we're still okay

by electr1c_compass



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: F/F, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 06:19:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12858597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/electr1c_compass/pseuds/electr1c_compass
Summary: Jon should have known Lovett kisses like she insults - in sharp bursts and with heat. There’s a hand in the small of Jon’s back, pressing her closer, gripping like she can’t get enough.





	you're probably sleeping, i hope we're still okay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [retweet_this](https://archiveofourown.org/users/retweet_this/gifts).



> Much love to my beta celli, whom I told I was at a stopping point...and then proceeded to double the word count.
> 
> Prompt 70: "sickfic! with lots of hurt/comfort"

Live shows are tiring in a way none of them had been able to predict. They’ve been _on_ for too long, running off of gas station snacks and chemical energy drinks. Tanya passes out teas at their next pit stop after Lovett loudly announces that her throat hurts from sharing her wisdom. It’s more of a relief than any of them would probably like to admit. Jon can see the exhaustion etched into the lines on Tommy’s forehead and the way Lovett taps aggressively at her phone when it takes too long to load an app.

It’s been a full hour, at least, since she checked Twitter but she leaves her phone in her pocket. They’re driving from Greenville, SC back to Atlanta after a two week swing through Memphis, Nashville, and Charlotte. The interstate passes by in a blur of billboards declaring war on abortion and homemade signs for roadside jerky stands. For some reason, Tommy’s still working, headphones in and face dimly lit by the glow of her laptop. Lovett’s got her feet stretched out to Dan’s seat, slouched down in her chair and playing some game on her phone. Dan’s snoring softly, head tilted to one side. Jon shifts a little in her seat, trying to get more comfortable. They’re so close to being home she can taste it, thinks longingly about clean clothes, Leo, a routine.

In Atlanta, Tommy forgets about a half filled water bottle in her bag and has to go back through security. Lovett goes to stretch her legs and neglects to inform anyone, so they spend five minutes calling her phone before she reappears, irate at the interruptions. They land at LAX in the middle of the night - or what feels like it anyway; going from the East Coast back to LA always fucks her up - in a stony silence. They all pile into a Lyft, Tommy up front making conversation with the driver and Lovett and Jon in the back. Jon watches the street lights along the 405. They’ve been gone so often for so long that it looks familiar but doesn’t feel quite like home.

“Get out,” Lovett’s nudging her side. “Just crash here.”

She’s so tired, her internal body clock so bewildered, that she forgets to say goodbye to Tommy and walking across the street is nearly unimaginable. It takes all the energy she has to grab her bags and stumble up the dimly lit walkway into Lovett’s house. It’s the too-still kind of quiet, punctuated by the shrill, warning chirp of the alarm until Lovett manages to punch in the code correctly.

“The guest room isn’t made up, just go to my room.”

Jon nods, or thinks she does anyway, and doesn’t even bother to turn on the light before she collapses face first into bed.

 

She wakes up sweating and cuddled up against Lovett’s back, all her limbs tucked in like she’s doing a cannonball. Just the thought of moving makes her groan.

“Could you please shut up?”

She's hot and her entire body feels heavy, weighted down by the duvet. “Don’t feel good.”

“That’s because it’s five am. Go back to sleep.” Lovett mumbles unhelpfully before going quiet. Her heavy breathing reverberates inside Jon’s head and she shuts her eyes, wishing for sleep.  


“Jon, we gotta go pick up the dogs.” Lovett’s waking her again, a hand on her shoulder this time. When Jon cracks an eyelid, she can see Lovett’s standing beside the bed fully dressed in those stupid maroon jeans that she’s worn every other day for the last 15 days.

“‘s’time?”

“Early afternoon. If you don’t get up, you’ll never go to sleep tonight.”

“What do you care?” she flops away, burrowing back into the pillow.

“Jon.” Lovett’s voice sharpens. They’ve spent two weeks literally living out of each other’s suitcases - in fact Lovett’s wearing one of Jon’s old Obama shirts and it hangs too long on her torso; Jon blames her sleep-deprived brain for cataloging the ways it fits them differently in the shoulders, the waist, the tits. It’s been two weeks and they’re all a little tired of each other. “Come get Leo and go home.”

Her head spins a little when she stands and Lovett reaches out to steady her with a hand on her hip, leaving it for a beat too long. “M’okay.” Fortunately, she’s still dressed from the night before (and purposely avoids thinking about how many hours it’s been since she showered) and can just follow Lovett out to her car, not even bothering to complain how _s_ _ _h_ e _ should be the one driving.

 

She and Leo don’t really bother saying goodbye - maybe Leo’s a little tired of Pundit too - and schlep their stuff across the street. Jon sets her phone on the kitchen counter, dumps her bags at the foot of the bed, fills Leo’s food and water, and collapses back in bed. She psyches herself up enough to change into sweatpants and goes back to sleep.

When she wakes up again, the sun’s setting behind the trees and Leo’s whining at the door.

Jon sits up and has to put her head in her hands. She doesn’t know what day it is or when she last ate. They’ve been traveling so much, it takes a minute for her to remember where she even _is_ . There’s a chance she’s supposed to be somewhere, but fuck if she knows. She lets Leo out and opens the freezer to scavenge for dinner. She doesn't find anything good and shuts it again, staring blankly at the stainless steel door until Leo scratches to be let in.  


The next day is worse. She wakes up sneezing and when she tries to shush Leo, all that comes out is a croak. _Why did we choose an audio medium,_ she asks herself miserably. Squinting at the bright screen of her phone, she taps out: _sick, not coming in today_ to their office Slack channel and goes back to sleep.

She wakes up throughout the day to see different parts of various Harry Potter movies playing on the TV. At one point, she drags herself to the kitchen to make toast and grumpily wonders why she ever wanted to live alone.

Late in the afternoon, someone knocks at the door, and she stumbles over to let them in, blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

Tommy's standing on her front step, a takeout bag in one hand and Gatorade in the other and Jon loves her so fiercely, her heart could burst.

“Figured you really were sick when you didn't respond to Lovett telling you the pee tape dropped.”

“ _What_?” Jon asks and well, at least she has a voice, even if she does have to hold a hand to her throat. Yelling with a cold probably isn’t her best idea.

“It didn't,” Tommy rushes to assure her. “She was, you know, trying to see if you were sick or just skipping.” Jon gives her the dirtiest look she can muster and slumps back onto the couch. Tommy patiently shuts the door behind her and starts pouring the soup into a bowl and putting bread in the toaster.

“You’re my favorite,” Jon tells her, pulling herself into something resembling a seated position and eagerly taking the bowl from Tommy.

“I promise not to tell Lovett,” she says, taking a seat at the opposite end of the couch and stretching her legs along Jon’s.

“I might be contagious,” Jon warns and Tommy shrugs.

“If I’m going to get sick, you’ve probably already given it to me.”

Jon finishes her soup before it’s even finished cooling and settles back into her blanket with a sniff. “My eyes feel hot,” she tells the ceiling, “and my face hurts.”

The cushions shift under her as Tommy reaches over to press a hand to her forehead. “You’re warm,” she observes.

Jon makes a little noise when she pulls her hand away. “Felt good.”

“C’mere.” She helps pull Jon to her feet, walking with her to the bedroom. “Go brush your teeth, you’ll feel better.”

When Jon comes back out, Tommy’s found fresh pajamas and set the Gatorade and a glass of water on her nightstand. “You’re a damn good doctor, Tom.”

“Drink the water,” Tommy says, flushing a little with the compliment. “What do you wanna watch?”

“I don’t care. Whatever you want.” Pulling back the covers, Jon lies close enough that she can feel the weight of Tommy’s body on the mattress. “Cuddle me.”

“You sound like Lovett when you’re sick.”

“Have you considered...” Jon doesn’t even need to finish her sentence to make the joke. Tommy laughs and slides under the duvet next to her, curving her body against her back and putting an arm around her waist. She turns on some shitty sitcom and Jon falls asleep to the sound of a studio laugh track and Tommy’s breathing.

 

When Lovett lets herself in the next morning, Jon’s trying to figure out a way to escape Tommy’s hold and go to the bathroom. Fortunately, she doesn’t have to once Pundit and Leo start barking at each other. Tommy sits up at the noise, looking confused, hair falling out of her ponytail and hoodie rucked up to expose her stomach.

Lovett wanders into the bedroom, breakfast burrito in one hand and her phone in the other. She’s wearing her Electric In Any Medium baseball hat and her worn Straight Shooter tee. It’s familiar and oddly reassuring, leaving a warm feeling in Jon’s stomach that has nothing to do with Tommy’s body next to her. “I called to see if you wanted anything, so you must really be dying if you didn’t answer.” She catches sight of Tommy’s bare stomach and Jon, still tucked underneath the covers and stops. “Oh.”

“Tommy brought me soup last night and ended up crashing,” Jon tells her and it takes a minute longer than usual, but Lovett’s expression clears. Jon thinks about how it must have looked to Lovett, walking in on the two of them. It’s not like all of them aren’t used to sharing a bed, but Lovett hates to be left out more than nearly anything else and even just the thought forms an angry knot of guilt in Jon’s stomach. She pats the bed next to her. “Come join us and watch movies.”

“If you get me sick, I might murder you,” Lovett threatens, but climbs up next to them anyway. “You have the best bed and we should stay here more often.”

“You mean your Ikea mattress isn’t holding up to the test of time?” Tommy asks as Jon manages to stand and stagger towards the bathroom.

“Excuse you, my mattress is fully customized to the exact proportions of my body and has been a good value purchase.”

“Have you heard of this new company that delivers customized mattresses to your house?”

“ _God_ , this is going to be a whole thing in the ads now isn’t it?”

Jon shuts the door on their banter and shivers in the open air. She hurries to pee and wash her hands, but it feels like moving through the ocean, a current resisting every step. It must take too long - Tommy knocks on the door and calls her name after a few minutes, then opens it to find her sitting on the floor, against the cabinet with a toothbrush in her mouth.

“Jon?”

“I got tired,” she explains through a mouthful of foam. “And I don’t want to get back up.”

“Come on,” Tommy pulls her to her feet and wraps an arm around her waist while she rinses. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

Jon pulls open her medicine cabinet. It’s not well stocked, but maybe there’s something in there to help her head.

“I don’t think so.” Tommy plucks the box from her hands. “Lovett and I will be in charge of this.”

“Don’t sign me up for anything, Vietor!” Lovett shouts from Jon’s bed.

“I’ll set your alarm for four hours and then you can have another,” Tommy says, handing Jon a pill. “Back to bed.”

“I’m not a child,” she grumbles, but flops back next to Lovett anyway. Lovett’s turned on an old episode of some show she recognizes but can’t name and looks down at her for approval. Jon nods and curls back under the duvet, snuggling against Lovett’s side and closing her eyes.

She’s definitely still feverish and every part of her body feels simultaneously hot and cold. Lovett and Tommy stay propped against the headboard on top of the duvet, laptops out and talking quietly. The TV plays quietly in the background and Jon drifts in and out of sleep.

When she wakes up long enough to be coherent, her fever’s broken and she’s sweated through her shirt. It’s soaked between her breasts and she can feel her hair sticking to her face. Also, Tommy’s gone.

“You okay?” Lovett’s watching her warily, still cuddled up next to her.

“Mmpf.” Jon mutters into the pillow, pulling her shirt away to fan herself gently as Lovett reaches out, resting a hand against her forehead, then on her cheek.

“You feel cooler, that’s good. It was like being next to a furnace earlier.”

“‘M gonna go shower.” She sits up and feels her head pound. “Maybe I’ll sit in the bath.”

Lovett makes a face. “Ew.”

“Don’t be a bitch, my head hurts.”

“Sitting in your own filth is weird.”

“I feel dirty,” Jon complains and turning back, she can see Lovett grinning on the bed. “Don’t.”

“But it’s so _easy_.” Picking up her laptop, Lovett opens it dramatically. “I’m going to sit here and workshop better jokes while you get clean.” She wiggles her eyebrows at Jon, who laughs and shuts the door in her face.

 

“Food?”

“Greatest speechwriter in the world,” Lovett says drily, leaning over to the nightstand while Jon settles on the bed next to her. “Tommy left some fruit.” At Jon’s face, she holds the bowl closer. “She says it’s good for you. Eat.”

Grudgingly, Jon eats. “Just glad this didn’t happen on tour.”

“I think if we’d cancelled our shows, we’d have turned a nation of fans into haters.”

“A whole nation of fans, huh?” Jon grins at her and Lovett studies her face for a minute, reading her carefully before gently smiling back.

“I made you tea too.” She nudges Jon toward the mug. “Tommy said it helps.”

“Well if Tommy says,” Jon says but reaches for it and takes a sip. “I feel better now, so.”

“You look better,” Lovett says, touching the back of her hand to the curve of Jon’s throat. “Closer to your regular spray tan orange.”

Jon’s laughing but shoves her anyway. “Fuck you.”

Lovett smiles cautiously, like she does when she makes a joke that teeters on the edge of too far. “I liked the buzzcut,” Lovett tells her quietly, suddenly serious, and reaches out to run her fingers through Jon’s damp hair. It’s shoulder-length now and Lovett’s fingertips brush against her exposed collarbone. “You should bring that back next tour, keep ‘em on their toes.”

“Give Elijah something for his content mill,” Jon mumbles, eyes closing against her will, warm and sleepy in the bed next to Lovett. The empty bowl bumps between them as she shifts but she ignores it.

Lovett laughs and Jon can feel the vibration in her pillow. “We’d have to go dark for two days; nobody would be able to handle it.”

“Maybe it would hide the grey.” She looks up at Lovett and the moment feels unexpectedly intimate. Unexpected given how much time they’ve spent together, how much space they’ve shared.

“I like it,” Lovett says again softly and Jon hears it echoing in her ears as she drops off.

 

It’s dark in her room when she wakes up, the sun setting behind the palm trees visible from her window. Lovett’s lying next to her, has shifted under the duvet at some point. She’s awake too, watching. Her eyes look darker in the dusky light, her curls throwing shadows against the dark pillow.

The air between them feels thicker, denser. Somehow, the atmosphere’s shifted. Jon thinks irrationally of a meeting Lovett had dragged her for a speech on climate. It was in the middle of the financial crisis, when Jon was drowning under not enough sleep and too much responsibility, the days passing in a blur between her bare apartment and windowless basement office.

“It’ll make you feel better,” Lovett had insisted. “Give you something else to think about.” Jon had felt the walls of her office starting to close in and went.

They’d met the NOAA guy in one of the corner meeting rooms. Most of his speech had blurred together, Jon wasn’t the one writing the remarks and had tuned in and out for most of the conversation, but at one point he’d talked about how the Earth’s gravity kept the atmosphere weighted around the planet and from drifting out into space.

She thinks about that now, feels the weight of the gravity between them, anchoring them both.

They watch each other carefully in the fading light and it just takes a second, a breath, for Jon to decide. Leaning forward, she presses her lips carefully to Lovett’s, fitting herself into her space. It’s not a great kiss, or even a good one. It’s too dry and she’s worried her breath tastes bad and she’s still mostly sleepy. But Lovett doesn’t _not_ respond and that’s enough.

“This isn’t how I imagined this happening,” Lovett says when they break apart with a shallow laugh.

“You imagined it?” Jon asks in a small voice and the next second feels stupid, but it’s too late to take the words back.

Lovett’s hand tightens in her hair and she realizes that maybe Lovett’s a little nervous too. “Since the beginning.”

Jon doesn’t like medical shows, looks away from blood and cuts, never entertained thoughts of becoming a doctor. There’s something too raw in being so close to another person when they’re so exposed, in seeing something so intimate and revealing that it’s hard for her to look. She wants to look away now from this vulnerable side of Lovett.

Instead, she tucks her head into Lovett’s neck. “Me too.” The TV’s muted, blue light flickering in the room and it’s quiet. So of course, Jon has a sneezing fit. She sits up, grabbing for the tissue box and Lovett’s laughing, reaching forward to put a gentle hand against her back, warmth bleeding through the fabric. She sniffles and settles back into Lovett’s embrace, letting her wrap an arm around her shoulders and press a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Ugh.”

“Yeah you sound gross.” Lovett teases. “And you probably shared your germs with me, so thanks for that.”

Jon blushes. “I’m sorry.”

Lovett can’t seem to stop touching her - she runs a hand over her forehead, tangles their fingers together, brushes her fingertips at the top of her neck. Every part of Jon’s body feels like it’s on fire.  “Don’t be.”

Jon makes a face back at her, has to bite back a smile from taking over her face. This, at least, is semi-familiar territory. Lovett’s mouth twitches like she wants to make a comment and Jon waits it out. She doesn’t have to wait long - Lovett blurts it out, almost before she can think better of it. “So is this how it’s going to be from now on?” She says it jokingly, but Jon knows her too well, has seen too much.

“I hope so,” Jon tells her honestly and it’s her turn to feel a little too raw, a little too exposed. Lovett closes the distance this time. It’s a better kiss and heats up quickly, wet and biting, and Jon should have known Lovett kisses like she insults - in sharp bursts and with heat. There’s a hand in the small of Jon’s back, pressing her closer, gripping like she can’t get enough.

“I don’t want to get you sick,” Jon whispers against Lovett’s mouth the next time they break apart.

Lovett looks up at her, eyes dark. “I read once that orgasms make you heal more quickly. Boosts your immune system.”

“And you’ve just been holding onto that information?”

Lovett shrugs, shifting Jon’s arms on her shoulders. “Figured it might come in handy sometime.”

“Well, then,” Jon runs a thumb along Lovett’s lower lip where it’s kiss-swollen and pink, running her other hand down to where the swell of Lovett’s breast pushes against her sports bra, scraping her nail against the bump of her hard nipple. It makes Lovett shiver against her, her breathing going shallow.

“I’m pretty sure _I’m_ the one who’s supposed to be making you come.”

Jon tugs Lovett’s shirt over her head and drops it beside them. “What’s stopping you?”

A hand on her belly pushes her back against the bed and Jon scoots backwards until she’s against the pillows. She wiggles out of her sweatpants and tosses them to the ground. “Jon -” Lovett’s watching her with an inscrutable expression and maybe, somehow, impossibly, Jon’s read this all wrong, moved too fast. She knows every quirk of Lovett’s personality, but this part of her is entirely unfamiliar. It wouldn’t be the first time Lovett’s surprised her.

She stops, twisting her hands in the hem of her shirt, stretching the material against her knuckles. “Yeah?”

Lovett shakes her head, leaning forward to kiss her again, “you’re _you_.”

And Jon doesn’t know what to say to that - who would? - but it doesn’t feel like they’re stopping or like Lovett regrets her decision when she pushes her own pants to the floor, when she pulls off Jon’s shirt or bites a mark in the soft, fleshy skin between her hips, pushing Jon’s underwear down to her ankles.

They communicate in soft gasps and groans, words lost between them. Jon whines when Lovett teases her fingertips up and in. Lovett tucks her head down, breaking eye contact, like maybe she's as overwhelmed as Jon feels.

It’s almost fully dark in the room, amplifying their quiet noises and heavy breathing. Jon wishes one of them could reach the light - she wants to see Lovett’s face when she plants a foot on the bed and pushes her hips up, searching for more friction. Lovett, for all her self-deprecating humor about not being able to read a room, can at least read Jon’s body, and tucks a third finger in.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Jon gasps, tilting her head back against the pillow. “God, Lovett.”

She doesn’t know if Lovett responds over the rushing in her ears, but she can feel Lovett’s hand steadying herself on her thigh, knows she can feel the muscle tensing. She feels Lovett’s touch everywhere. It’s a heady thought and either that or Lovett’s insistent thumb on her sends her over the edge with a shuddering gasp.

Lovett leans up to kiss her until her breathing slows back down. Jon has to stop to cough then says hoarsely, “come here.”

“You don’t have to,” Lovett hesitates until Jon reaches for her, pulls her up Jon’s body. “I can - it’s fine.”

“No, I want to.” It feels important to be earnest here, not to let Lovett brush it off. And still, Jon wants to be careful, resists any sudden moves. She props herself up a little and reaches out for Lovett. “Is it okay?”

Lovett nods and that’s all Jon needs to slide a hand into her underwear. It’s artless and her hand’s at an awkward angle, but Lovett’s slick beneath her touch and her hands are gripping Jon’s shoulders and she’s making little noises that Jon is going to think about forever. When she comes, she’s quieter than Jon would have expected, given away only by a sharp inhale and a low “ _Jon_ ”.

She tries to give Lovett her space, lets her slide off her lap to the other side of the bed. She watches her take a deep breath and another.

“That was uh -” Lovett looks up, a small smile playing over her lips.

“Good?” Jon offers. “At least for me. Not probably my, uh, finest work for you.”

Lovett laughs then, finally. She’s still in her sports bra and underwear, giggling helplessly. “You can make it up to me.”

Jon pats the empty mattress beside her, cuddles up against Lovett’s back when she settles close. “Maybe after a nap.”

Lovett yawns widely. “Maybe tomorrow.”


End file.
